Is everything meant to end? Nothing is sacred enough to last forever? The only constant is not change, but rather riddance. When do I get to treasure memories that are not tainted with the realisation that things were done with. And the difficulty and tugged struggle to end them.
Except for that one house party we had at varsity. I well recall the alcohol just never ever ever ending. No matter how hard we tried.
Oh. Wait. No. I do recall the last beer waiting for me when I finally arrived home the next day. I found it under a couch or something. I immediately took it over to my neighbour as a gift. I sat on the edge of her bed, woke her groggy smelly self up, and popped the beer. Then she threw up.